


The Mission

by AlexeCinz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gency Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexeCinz/pseuds/AlexeCinz
Summary: An expansion of Genji’s origin story. Genji runs into trouble with a rival crime syndicate while in Tokyo. He unexpectedly crosses paths with Mercy, and their lives become intertwined from thereon.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. At The Imperial Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji tries to get away from the tension in Hanamura by heading to Tokyo. There he has an unexpected encounter with a rival syndicate ... as well as an attractive stranger.

* * *

“Genji-sama. The Boss wants to see you.”

Obscured by the steam of the hot springs, Genji couldn’t tell if Nishida was grimacing or smiling. Maybe neither. All those old dogs who had worked for his father for decades, they knew how to conceal their emotions.

So Hanzo was looking for him, eh? No doubt to give him another tongue lashing about the ‘Shimada Legacy’. Since their father’s death, his elder brother had become insufferably uptight about growing the Clan’s influence. Well, let the damn empire crumble. There was nothing noble about the Shimada Clan. Born out of the dark and secretive ways of the ninja, in modern times it was no more than a criminal syndicate.

“You enjoy being an errand boy, Nishida?” Genji sneered.

“Errand boy is fine. What I don’t enjoy is being a babysitter.”

That stung. Genji rose from the bath and flung a wet towel at the old gangster. Nishida didn’t dodge and it struck him across the face with a sodden slap.

“Hanzo can keep waiting.”

Nishida shook off the towel and it fell to the floor. For a moment he hesitated, as if deliberating whether to say more.

“You have a problem, old man?”

When Nishida opened his mouth again, it was neither angry nor frustrated, just matter-of-fact. “It’s not just the Boss that has changed, Genji-sama. It’s a different inner circle now. The Old Master wouldn’t have liked it. I don’t like it. But it is what it is. We all need to watch out.” He paused and then turned to the door. “I’ll wait outside. We must go meet the Boss quickly.”

Genji scowled and pulled on his clothes. Peeking between the wooden panels of the sliding door, he could see a black limo and three men in dark jackets. His brother’s current right-hand man, Udaijin, was perched on the hood smoking a cigarette and looking at his watch. Genji was always being monitored, being judged. When he put a foot wrong, no-one in the Clan would dare physically attack him, but word would get to Hanzo and life was made unbearable for him in other ways.

Forget Hanamura. He needed to get lost in a mega-city, to bury himself in the chaos and the crowds. A few days in Tokyo living it up would cool his anger. Even the danger of trespassing the territory of other mobs – Tokyo was not under Shimada control – was nothing compared to the poisonous atmosphere here. Genji made his way to the second floor of the bath house, with little effort vaulted onto the roof of the next building, and was off.

* * *

The drive had taken only 2 hours at a pace. He slammed shut the door of the sports car, dropping the key and a tip into the valet’s waiting hands. I’d love to see Udaijin’s dumb face when he learns I’ve stolen his Pink Baby Lambo. The valet’s eyes goggled when he saw how much he’d been given.

Genji usually favoured the ultra-modern joints in Tokyo, like the Pyramid Excel, or the KLK Pleasure Tower. On this night, with Hanzo wanting to wring his neck, that would have been too predictable. Instead he had made his way to the Imperial Hotel in the Old City. Stuffy and traditional, mostly patronised by rich old biddies in embroidered kimono, toting their diamond-studded Chanel clutches; by paunchy ambassadors and the like. He remembered that its huge rooftop watering hole, however, could get pretty exciting on the right night.

He rode the lift up to the Ambrosia Bar.

“Sir, you can’t come in dressed like – “

Genji silenced the waiter with a wave of his credit card. “Any interesting company in the house?”

A more savvy member of the service staff scurried forward and took his green parka. “For you, Sir, we can customise a party in 15 minutes. We can even bring in omnics. What is to Sir’s taste?”

Genji smirked. “I like to be spontaneous.”

“As a special guest, please of course make yourself comfortable in the Temple. There are some ladies there already.”

The Temple was a bar within a bar, the VIP area at the centre of the Ambrosia. They had constructed a rotunda out of crystal champagne glasses, at the heart of which bubbled a fountain of champagne. Crass, but Genji wouldn’t say no to it.

A purple-haired middle-aged woman pulled on his collar as he passed. He ignored her. A guy in a tuxedo gave him a significant look too. For the hell of it Genji winked back, but walked on.

And then he saw her. She was sitting at the steps of the rotunda, nursing a drink that glowed amber in the dark. Platinum blonde hair, wearing a cream silk blouse and dove grey trousers. Pearls at her neck, a flash of pale skin at her collarbone. Nice. Some of the bodies that hung around the Imperial Hotel were attractive enough to moonlight as models, but this lady looked classy to boot. It almost made Genji feel self-conscious about his own casual apparel.

She could not have missed him walking in, but was trying not to appear too eager, it seemed. Genji liked that. He would play along.

“Hey there,” he said in English, even though those who worked the hotels almost always spoke Japanese. He gestured at the ostentatious arrangement around them. “I’ve come to pray at the Temple. Are you here for spiritual fulfilment too?”

Cheeky. She saluted him with her glass and shook her head. “Actually, I’m here for business.” She had a slight accent. Not American or British. German?

“Not pleasure?” Shit, money talk so soon. Well, they were all the same under the cosmetics and fashion labels, these girls for hire. He wondered how much she would ask. Less than what he was willing to pay and more than what she was really worth, that was how the numbers usually clicked.

“There’s a conference on vector diseases all this week,” the woman went on. “I thought I’d arrive a little earlier to see Tokyo, but I could only get a late flight in. I am just exploring the hotel for now.”

A conference? Was she putting on an act? No, it suddenly made sense; it fit with her dress and demeanour. She wasn’t an escort. Genji didn’t know whether to be disappointed. Luckily for him the lights were too dim for her to see his flushed face. He wasn’t embarrassed that he had approached her. He was chagrined at not being worldly enough to tell the difference.

“So we’ve established that I’m a boring medical professional. Angela Muller. And you are?”

The woman held out her hand, which he shook awkwardly. She had slim, elegant fingers that seemed so small against his own. In the wake of their brief touch lingered an intriguing floral fragrance. It was elderflower, but Genji was unfamiliar with the scent. He hesitated, not knowing whether to run off in search of easier thrills.

“I’m… Just call me Genji.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “As in ‘The Tale of Genji’?”

“Ah. You know of it.” That was a surprise from a gaijin girl.

“Oh, sometimes I like to read things other than people’s medical records,” she joked. “I can’t pretend to know a lot about it, though. I remember it was written in ancient times, and that ‘Genji’ in the story was a prince.”

He didn’t bother to contradict her. Far from being a prince, the hero of the tale was an outcast from royalty. Removed from the succession for political reasons, he became a womanising drifter, albeit a charming one.

“In the old days women in the royal palace got bored easily. Stories like Genji’s entertained them. It was… _taihaiteki_.” He didn’t know the English word, _decadent_. “Guess my parents were also bored when they named me.”

Angela sipped her drink. The sugar crystals on the rim of the glass made it look as if her lips were coated with frost. “It’s a glamorous name, at least. I think they just wanted you to achieve great things.”

“It’s not a proper name. Japanese people find it weird, but not as weird as – ” He stopped short, on the brink of sharing that his childhood nickname had been ‘Sparrow’. That was too undignified to talk about.

Thankfully Angela had moved on. “Ah, I had a narrow escape with my name. My father wanted to call me Brynhildr. Like the Valkyrie. You know this myth?” 

“Big ladies with spears, big helmets?” Genji mimed horns on his head.

“ _Ja_ , that’s the stereotype! But anyway, my mother convinced him, let’s go with something less over the top, an angel, let’s call her ‘Angela’. I suppose Swiss people are quite conservative in the end. Nothing controversial for us.”

So she wasn’t German.

She read his thoughts. “Yes, I’m Swiss. Why don’t you sit down?”

Genji realised he’d been standing like a dull schoolboy, hands clasped behind his back. Not cool by anyone’s standard. Almost too hastily, he sank down and leaned against the pillar next to hers. His movements seemed clumsier than usual, whereas Angela sat with such an easy grace, tapered shoes delicately pointing out from under the flares of her trousers. Everything about her was neat and composed, soothing.

“What brings you to this place?” she asked.

_Me? I’m just a sad, aimless wastrel running away from his preachy gang boss brother._

“Ah - I’m also here on business.” _Good save, Genji, good save._ “My family own breweries, so now and again we visit the establishments that carry our liquors.” _And that’s true. Technically._

Angela raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “No wonder you said you were here for ‘spirit-ual’ fulfilment.”

He liked that he was making her laugh. “Ok, I admit it. Work is just my excuse. I come to Tokyo to dodge all kinds of responsibilities.” He expected her to respond with some breezy comment. 

Instead, she held his gaze. “Dodging your responsibilities or someone else’s?”

What seemed like a trivial question drilled deep. He had no answer. 

Clinking glasses in the background, muted conversation, a jazz instrumental. Something Stupid. Angela was playing with the enamel bangle around her wrist. Her wrists were tiny, fragile-looking. He thought he could see silver nodes at the heels of her palms. Cybernetic implants of some kind. 

It was she who resumed the conversation. “How long will you be in Tokyo?”

“Not long.” Genji clenched his fists and thought of Hanzo, doubtless fuming back in Hanamura. He felt his chest tighten. “Still – I could show you around the city.” He faltered. “If you want… well, if you have time.”

“You tempt me! I came here with a colleague. You know the type, serious workaholic. He’d probably kill me if he knew I was here being social.”

“I could help you shake him off.”

“I have a better idea. I could tell him you’re my patient. In critical condition.”

This time Genji laughed with her, feeling some of the tightness in his chest dispel.

The relief didn’t last long. From somewhere near the front of the Ambrosia came the sound of glass shattering and raised voices.

**“Hanamura no gomitame yarou, doko da?!”**

Followed by a crash and a few whimpers, whether from the bar staff or patrons, Genji didn’t know.

Bad news. ‘Trash from Hanamura’ could only mean the local boys knew a Shimada was here and were upset. He could see one of them in a glittery shirt collaring the manager. Two more were hovering at the doorway, carrying truncheons. These were no mere ruffians. They had tattoos of rice sheaves and a stylised river on the backs of their hands, which meant they were part of Inagawa-kai’s punisher squads. The angular bulges in their pockets hinted at a potentially deadly confrontation.

Angela’s eyes went wide. Genji motioned urgently for her to duck down and get out through the door used by serving staff. When she didn’t move, Genji crouched forward and tugged her sleeve. “Listen. They’re looking for me,” he whispered. “You need to get out of here NOW.”

“People are hurt. What if I can help – ”

“Run now, help later!” Genji didn’t know whether to feel frustrated or touched. Whichever way, there was little time. The men were striding forward, heading straight for the Temple. For the first time in a long while, Genji was terrified. Not for himself, but for the woman beside him. They had just met; she didn’t deserve to be in danger because of him.

A million things flashed through his mind: the training that had prepared him for survival situations; his father’s stern lessons about negotiating with rival Clans; Hanzo’s sorrowful face. Yet what happened next was pure instinct. The same split second that the lead gangster spotted them, two shuriken flew from Genji’s fingers into the man’s eyes. The thug went down screaming. Genji sprang forward and his knee connected with the second gangster’s groin. His left elbow crushed the third man’s nose.

Before the third man crumpled, he fired off a wild gunshot. It went nowhere near its intended target, but there was a sickening sound as the bullet tore through the chest of the purple-haired woman and punched into the bar counter.

Shrieking. More gunshots. Blood on the floor, slippery beneath his trainers. Footsteps of more men running towards the scene of carnage. The sound of a phone keypad as someone dialled the police.

Still, Angela was safe - wait, where was she? He’d been so keen for her to escape, yet now that she was no longer by his side, he was gripped by anxiety. She wasn’t anywhere in the bar. He leapt over furniture, knocked over bottles, dashed to the entrance.

Several more Inagawa goons lay sprawled on the floor outside, but they had not been taken down by Genji. Angela stood a few metres away, and she was not alone. A tall man with greying blond hair stood protectively over her, replacing his pulse gun into a concealed holster. Angela’s look of relief – and was there admiration too? – made Genji resent the newcomer instantly. She was touching the man’s arm. It was clear they knew each other, and equally clear that the man was signalling that Genji should back off.

“I’ve got you in my sights,” warned the man.

“Look, I’m fine now,” said Angela firmly.

“No thanks to this punk.”

“I can see you’re trouble, Yank. Watch yourself,” said Genji, reverting to his habitual swagger.

“Same to you, son.”

Sirens. People snapping pictures on their phones. Angela gave Genji a nod of acknowledgement before hurrying away with her ‘colleague’, or whatever he was. There was more to both of them than met the eye, but Genji didn’t care.

Time too for this ninja to call it a night. Genji dodged into the fire escape, avoiding the elevators. He would have to do some creative climbing to avoid being intercepted on the ground floor. It would be a chore getting back to Shimada territory undetected. Something stupid indeed, he mentally kicked himself. This jaunt would cost him dear.

He just didn’t know how dear.


	2. Cleansing Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji returns to Hanamura to find the Inagawa-kai baying for his blood. Hanzo is consumed by paranoia, while Morrison and Reyes bicker about the interference of Overwatch in Japanese clan warfare.

“Why is it a problem? Well, ONE, the Inagawa-kai were in a middle of a sensitive negotiation with China Wanchou Corp. TWO, one of the chief’s sons-in-law and some Wanchou accountants got killed in the scuffle.” Udaijin brandished the two remaining fingers of his left hand like a weapon. It was an irritating tic of his. “Massive loss of face, massive.”

“That’s not my question,” said Hanzo through gritted teeth. “I asked: How much are we in debt to them, Udaijin?”

The gangster cleared his throat. “With the loan on the munitions factory, and the unfinished co-development of Kamu Island, about 30 billion credits.”

“In other words, we can’t afford to offend them.” Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. He exhaled forcefully. “They’re baying for your blood, Genji. You gave them reason to.”

Genji had taken the scenic route back to Hanamura, and three days without using his credit cards or committing more crimes along the way had been a real slog. He was exhausted, but Hanzo looked even more so. Deep lines had appeared in his forehead, more than his thirty years merited.

Udaijin licked his lips. “If I may.”

Hanzo gestured for him to continue.

“There’s no way around it, we have to pay some blood money. Maybe gift them our share of Kamu Island to service the debt. And then, maybe something to address the loss of pride. Give our Genji-sama a little slap on the wrist, as it were.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “Kamu Island is a painful loss, one that we can ill bear. But what do you mean by giving Genji a slap on the wrist?”

Genji did not appreciate that they were talking about him as if he were not present. “Just exile me, send me away in disgrace or something. I’m done with Hanamura anyway.”

“That doesn’t show enough… sincerity,” said Udaijin. “The Inagawa-kai respect the old ways.”

Hanzo frowned. “You mean a Cleansing Ritual.”

“Yes.”

Genji scoffed. “You mean a public whipping.” He looked to Hanzo, expecting him to dismiss the possibility straight away, but his elder brother was eerily silent.

Udaijin suddenly changed tack. “By the way, what were you doing in Tokyo in the first place? The Inagawa-kai said you met someone.”

They had seen him talk to Angela. “Just having my fun. I’m the family playboy, remember?” He tried to sound irreverent, but a lump formed in his throat at the thought of Angela being targeted by the Inagawa. Maybe it was a good thing she had that grumpy American minder, after all. “How was I to know I’d smash a hornet’s nest?”

“Truly, your ‘courage’ knows no limits.” Udaijin’s tone was mocking. 

“None whatsoever.” Genji feigned a yawn. If Genji had looked at his brother at that moment, he would have seen suspicion pass over Hanzo’s face, dark as a thundercloud.

Udaijin went on, his voice smooth. “So be it. Hanzo-sama, appearances matter. I only suggest this to preserve the empire your father built. We must act quickly, although of course, it is your decision entirely.”

“Hanzo?” queried Genji.

Udaijin smiled, thin-lipped.

“Leave us, Genji. Udaijin, you stay.”

* * *

Morrison and Reyes were arguing again, the same tiresome routine of late.

“I say we’re out,” said Morrison. “Gang warfare is not our concern. There’s not a rat’s ass to choose between these so-called Clans. Angela nearly got herself killed three days ago. For what? Crossfire over a petty business deal?”

“You’re short-sighted, Morrison,” hissed Reyes. Even over the comms unit he was intimidating. “There was a purpose to that clash.”

“You see shadows everywhere.”

“Because there are shadows everywhere.”

The Swiss doctor rapped the table impatiently. “Must arguing always be the answer? Listen, Commander Morrison, I appreciate your concern, but there are bigger issues here. I came to look at the technology being shared between Inagawa and Wanchou, and it is the precursor to a biological weapon. They can’t manufacture it on a large scale, not yet, but that could happen in a matter of months.”

Morrison crossed his arms and scowled.

“Months? One of the Shimada family showed, didn’t he?” added Reyes. “Shimada have pharma labs, agro-tech. If these three come together… we’d only have weeks. Morrison, you should have culled the brat as soon as Ziegler identified him.”

“What, and make it even more obvious that Overwatch was interfering? When we don’t even have code green to interfere!”

“You’re partly right, Sub-Commander Reyes,” Angela cut in. “There’s been past collaboration between the Inagawa-kai and the Shimada Clan, and the risk of them linking up is great. But Genji’s appearance in Tokyo was not scripted. There is no bio-weapons deal yet. Genji stumbled into trouble.”

“As did you, doctor,” said Reyes accusingly.

“Wait just a minute, you on first name terms with him already?” Morrison twigged. “That guy is a sleazeball. I wouldn’t let him near any daughter of mine.”

“Oh Commander? Status update: I’m not your daughter,” said Angela sweetly, “I’m your resident biotech expert. It checks out. I looked up Kimiko’s files on Japan’s syndicates. There’s been tension in the Shimada ranks since the old Clan head died. The sons are not nearly so committed as their father. There are rumours of power struggle, an impending coup of some kind. The fact that Genji was ignorant of the Inagawa-Wanchou meeting could mean information is being withheld from him and his brother. This is significant.”

Morrison sighed. Angela looked unassuming, but she was far from docile. “Well, what do you want to do, Dr Resident Biotech Expert? I’m not saying I’ll support it, by the way.”

“Let me stay on in Japan a few more days, scout Shimada territory. My intuition is that there’s an opportunity here, and I want to be on hand to take it.”

Over the comms unit, Reyes gave a cynical snort. “Blackwatch need not be involved, since you think it’s straightforward. Just remember you are support, not a frontline operative. I hope for your sake no-one realises that ‘Angela Muller’, Angela Ziegler and Mercy from Overwatch are one and the same. Reyes out.”

* * *

When had Genji begun to hate the ‘Shimada Legacy’? Maybe twenty years ago, when his mother had disappeared without a trace, leaving her two children frightened and bereft. Or was it as a teenager, when he had surpassed Hanzo in certain areas of ninja training, only to be punished for ‘not knowing his place’? Or perhaps it when he realised that townsfolk in Hanamura weren’t courteous to him because they loved the Shimada family, but because they feared reprisals. A cursed legacy indeed.

If Genji was honest with himself, acting the playboy was the easy way of assuaging his conscience. A cowardly means to distance himself from murder and drugs and arms dealing. Yet if he lived comfortably on the profits of those activities, was he really any better than the mobsters he despised?

Deep down, he knew Hanzo wasn’t cut out for leading the syndicate either. Neither of the brothers had their father’s brutality or acumen for ‘business’. Hanzo, like Genji, had survived years of intense training only by sheer belief in samurai lore. In yearning to fight with honour, they were throwbacks to a long-gone age. Even the manifestation of their special abilities, the Dragonstrike and Dragonblade, had come as a shock to everyone; no Shimada had been able to call forth such powers in generations.

“Genji-sama, more drinks?”

Genji waved the hostess off. Her dyed hair was coarse, brittle under the fluorescent lights, like doll’s hair. He had asked for a blonde ‘gyaru’ type, a pathetic imitation of what he really wanted. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Angela. He wondered if he would see her again, if he could find out her details from the Imperial Hotel. He indulged in a little fantasy about leaving Hanamura and going in search of her.

> _Dodging your responsibilities or someone else’s?_

He pushed the beer away, and the glasses fell off the tray and smashed on the floor. “No, I don’t want anything. I feel sick.” He leaned heavily against the arcade machine, using the console to prop himself up. He must have caught a terrible bug travelling back to Hanamura. His skin felt clammy and his abdominal muscles had begun to cramp badly.

“You don’t want it? Better drink up, boy, when you’re told. But that’s your problem, right, Gen-chan? You never do as you’re f*cking told.”

Udaijin’s sneering face loomed large. Genji’s brain instructed his arm to throw a punch. His body did not obey. Instead, unbalanced, he lurched sideways… into Udaijin’s vicious kick. Stunned by the pain, Genji retched up yellow bile.

“That took a lot more drugs than I expected. Tough little shit.” They were paying off the hostess, who quickly made herself scarce. “Ok, pretty boy. Time for the show.”

Udaijin’s two lackeys hauled Genji out of the arcade by his heels, his face scraping the ground as they dragged his limp body. They bloodied him across the rough tarmac of the streets, and cracked his head against the raised threshold of Shimada Castle’s vermillion doors. When would this end? The journey seemed on a loop, gateway curving in on itself to another gateway, to another. A psychedelic red-white slinky. Pain overlaid on pain.

“Not such a pretty face any more, huh. Dump him there.”

They were in the keep of Shimada Castle. They slammed him face down on a tatami mat, and it was agony for him to flip himself onto his back. When he succeeded, he saw masked white shapes seated in a row before him. In the centre, clad in black, was Hanzo. He alone wore no mask, though his blank expression and dark rings around his eyes gave the same impression. His kimono was pulled back to expose the left side of his body, as if he were about to take part in a ceremonial archery tournament. For a surreal moment Genji wondered if he was back at their father’s funeral. All confusion. Head of a dragon, tail of a snake. Bones and ashes. The chime of a Buddhist bell. Ritual cleansing.

“First, I want you to know this, Genji.” Hanzo reached out and grasped his brother by the chin. His voice was thick with rage and grief in equal measure. “I want you to know that I gave you chances. That day, when my men went to fetch you from the bath house.”

In the recesses of Genji’s drugged and pain-fogged brain was a small grain of lucidity. So Nishida had been trying to warn me. 

“I didn’t want to believe what my men told me. I wanted you to stand before me, to my face, and swear to me that it wasn’t true.” Hanzo’s face was contorted like that of a kabuki actor. His eyes were bloodshot. “That you were trying to destroy the Clan!”

“Nishida has already paid the price for being your go-between.” Hanzo pointed at Nishida’s mutilated body strung up in the corner, a pulpy mess, only recognisable from its distinctive permed hair. “But I was soft on you. It took me so long to realise that my own brother would stab me in the back. That motivated by jealousy, by resentment, you would try to sell us all out. Had the Inagawa-kai not caught you red-handed, it would now be my life in your hands.”

It was all becoming clear to Genji. It was never about Inagawa losing face. They thought I was part of a conspiracy to bring the criminal syndicates down. Udaijin then added on more lies to spice it up. He knew my actions made those lies so easy to believe.

“I gave you another chance to tell me what you had done. When you came back from your so-called jaunt. What were you doing in Tokyo in the first place? we questioned you. You lied to me without remorse.”

_Cunning, Udaijin, very cunning to spin that web._

“If you had confessed your deeds to me then, that you were plotting with those do-gooder agents, maybe it would not have come to this.” Murmurs of approval from the assembled masks. “I ask those here to bear witness.”

The white apparitions shuffled to their feet. One of them handed Hanzo something.

“You… you brought this on yourself, Genji.” Hanzo’s voice was unsteady. Genji suddenly realised his brother was trying to psych himself up. That’s why he kept talking.

‘This’ is no slap on the wrist. ‘This’ is what the Shimada Clan does to traitors.

There was the glint of steel, the metallic slither of a blade being drawn.

_… Am I not a traitor?_

Because in truth, he had longed for the Shimada Clan’s downfall. He had harboured seditious thoughts. As soon as he had seen Angela conferring with that soldier, he had known she was much more than a simple doctor. Yet he regretted none of what had happened. Through a tangle of coincidences, he had somehow reached his true desire. To be free of the Shimada Legacy.

The sword flashed upward, and Genji summoned the strength to look his brother in the eye.

“I’m a fool, Hanzo. But so are you. I’ll see you on the other side.”


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela begins the process of healing her new patient.

Once, as a child, Angela had found an injured cat outside her home, and had tried to attend to its torn paw. Her mother heard her crying and discovered that the cat had badly scratched her before limping off. Little Angela had then explained that she wasn’t upset about being scratched, she was crying because she hadn’t managed to bandage the kitty’s paw.

Commander Morrison now wore the same expression as her mother had done over twenty years before.

Shimada Genji had been more corpse than man when they retrieved him, and not an intact corpse at that. Now, as he lay in the healing cradle, Morrison could see silver and gold threads lacing through his flesh and binding him with the advanced prosthetics. Tubes passed into his abdomen, his shoulders, his back. There was the hum-whirr of machinery. Coil and recoil. Tighten and release. Some obscene combination of science and voodoo.

“Commander, you might let me get on with my work.” Light emanated from the nodes at Angela Ziegler’s wrists. Her gestures seemed more like weaving than precision surgery. Uncanny. Morrison didn’t understand medicine these days and didn’t want to.

“I’m not saying this guy’s not an asset. After what they did to him, he’ll be motivated alright.”

“So you helped me salvage him, and here we are. Was there something else you wanted to add, Commander?”

Morrison exhaled, trying not to sound exasperated. “Just be careful how you prepare him for his first mission. He’s not some innocent little… war orphan. If you catch my drift.”

 _We war orphans come in all shapes and sizes_ , Angela thought to herself.

“What I’m also saying is, we don’t make up the mission ourselves. I see Reyes’ team doing that, and that’s not accountability. You took a gamble this round, I stood with you, against my better judgement. This kind of game is too risky, too… subjective. That’s not how Overwatch should operate.” _Don’t let it get personal_ , was how he wanted to finish. _That always ends badly._ But he held back and simply gripped her shoulder, willing her to understand.

Angela nodded. Satisfied with this acknowledgement, the Strike Commander left the lab.

Genji’s eyelids fluttered and he murmured her name.

 _I know you are in pain. I knew it the moment I saw you in that bar._ Angela stroked his cheek and dialled up the anaesthetic. _So let it be a long, pleasant dream, until the prince is ready to awaken._ “I’ll be watching over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for Gency Week 2017, Day 4.
> 
> Freetalk:  
> I wanted to return to Genji’s origin story, first of all, but to more credibly explain the rift between him and Hanzo and why forgiveness and redemption were possible for them both. Here, Genji eventually rejects the Shimada clan for reasons of principle, not merely revenge. At the same time, I wanted a much more active role for Mercy in Genji’s transformation, one that would allow them to meet earlier. This Mercy keeps her own secrets, pursues her own Mission and is not just consigned to ‘support’. To me, the scenario where Genji and Mercy only meet as doctor and patient is a less meaningful one. Anyway, hope fans enjoy this.


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